Good

Overall, you could say the night was a blur, but you could also say that it was good, independent of that idiotic conversation with the asshole who asked how you were doing, to which you’d replied “good,” to which he queried, “but are you really good?” and you’d replied … “yeah, asshole, I am,” in your head, while out loud you’d said “yes,” even though your eyes said “asshole” —which still didn’t stop him from expanding on that thought (to nobody but himself), while you watched from behind that shot of tequila and thought: “clearly, you are so not good.”